


diamonds for daisies

by wreckingtomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Renaissance Faires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingtomlinson/pseuds/wreckingtomlinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renaissance faire AU. Louis is literally a knight in shining armor, and Harry is definitely in distress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally for the Larry Big Bang, but as that's not happening, I've just decided to post it as I work on it. Massive thank you to [Adrina](http://cybergoth90.tumblr.com) for being my beta and bearing with me through my weird timezones and procrastination. I don't have much else to say, so here we go, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Title from [Diamonds and Daisies](http://youtu.be/t0MiYC9fSes) by The Icarus Account.

They haven’t even gotten through the gates before Liam starts complaining. 

“It’s too hot today, Harry, did you have to go today? It’s supposed to be cooler tomorrow. And besides, the festival is here for seven weeks,” Liam points out as the two boys stand in line for tickets. “And we wouldn’t be standing here in the sun if you’d just bought the tickets online before we came.” 

“But we don’t get the student discount online,” Harry says patiently, stepping up to the counter and sliding his University of South Florida ID under the window. 

“It’s a dollar difference!” Liam protests before reluctantly buying a ticket of his own. 

Harry whacks him in the shoulder. “Come _on_ , Li, it’s fun. It’s better than sitting in the room watching porn all day,” he says with a smirk as they walk away from the ticket window. 

Liam looks horrified. “Did you look at my browser history?” he accuses. 

Harry just laughs. “You turn your headphone volume up way too loud, you know.” Ignoring his roommate’s indignant spluttering, Harry steps through the gates.

He’s always loved the renaissance faire. From the tender age of three, his mother had taken him and his sister every spring when the faire came back to Tampa. Some of his earliest memories were of standing, dwarfed, next to armor-clad knights and their war horses, or of smiling fairy women surrounding him, taking his hands, and dancing in circles, pulling him along.

“Is that even safe?” Liam squawks, dodging a hulking man dressed like an extra from Braveheart with a battleax strapped to his back. “I could have been decapitated!” 

“You were not going to be decapitated, Li, good god.” Harry pushes Liam out of the way of the entrance gate toward the nearest tent. “Look. Leather-bound journals. Haven’t you been looking for a good-quality one?” 

Liam sighs, but drifts over to the table, picking up one of the journals and striking up a seemingly amiable conversation with the shop owner. With Liam occupied, Harry takes the opportunity to dart off in his own direction. After picking up a times guide, he takes shelter from the beating sun under a live oak and flips through the pages, green eyes scanning the list. There on the second page is what he was looking for—the joust. 

Long ago, at his very first faire, his mother held his hand as he took him to meet a knight clad in silver armor so shiny it glittered in the sun. He stared up at the man, whose shadow towered over little Harry. The warhorse behind him was the biggest creature he’d ever seen. The knight reached up and, in what seemed like slow motion, took his helmet off to reveal a strong face, chiseled and scruffy and everything Harry imagined a warrior to be. 

“Oi!” 

A sudden shout yanks Harry out of his little stroll down memory lane, and he looks in the direction of the sound. Several feet in front of him is a young man with blond hair and a blue and green kilt. “Oi!” he shouts again, raising a metal flask and stumbling toward Harry. 

“Hey, hey, you okay, bud?” Harry says with a laugh, catching the man as he wobbled. The man looks at Harry with bright blue eyes. He can’t be much older, if at all. “Where’re you goin’?” he slurs. “I was s’posed t’ meet me lass, but she’s gone…off wi’ some other—someone else,” he goes on in a thick Irish accent. 

Harry plays along. “That’s pretty shit luck, sorry pal. But I’m gonna go watch the jousting.” 

The Irishman’s eyes light up. “Oh! Can I come too? ‘ve got a friend in the joust.” 

“Of course! Lead the way!” Harry says with a grin. His new friend holds out his arm, and they go skipping through the faire past fortunetellers in tents filled with soft pillows and the scent of heavily perfumed oils, past glassblowers making intricate pendants, past a wood fairy napping under a tree with a flute in his hands. Several minutes later, the two of them emerge from the shadows of the live oaks to a huge open space, the size of several football fields at least, with the long oval jousting ring in the center of a circle of food vendors. Already, festival-goers fill the hay bales that serve as benches, while men in various costumes try to drum up excitement for the event. 

“Here we are!” the blond announces with a hiccup, flopping down on a hay bale in the front row. Grinning, Harry sits down next to him and accepts a red and white flag from someone handing them out. They’ve got a pretty good seat here—they’re not in the middle, so they won’t have the best view of the breaking lances and dramatic battles in the center of the ring, but Harry does like watching the knights prepare for the duels on the sides. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there’s someone sitting on his other side and Liam’s pissed-off voice shouting in his ear. 

“Harry _fucking_ Styles!” 

"Calm down, Liam." Harry whirls around to face Liam, eyes landing on the journal in his roommate's hands. "Oh, good, you found a new one. Looks sharp." 

"You left me all by myself!" Liam yells. "Were you going to just leave me there?" 

Harry shrugs, because yeah, that had kind of been the plan. “Oh! And this is...uh..." He looks to where the blond had been sitting next to him only to find that he’s disappeared. “Where’d he go?” 

“Over there.” Liam points to a figure waddling off into the crowd. “So much for him. No, thank you,” he adds when the flag man offers him a pennant. 

“You’re no fun at all,” Harry complains, taking Liam’s flag for him. “Look! They’re coming.” 

To their left, a woman in an elaborately decorated velvet dress is striding toward the ring, following closely by a train of attendants and musicians—the queen. The crowd oohs, ahhs and claps in appreciation as the queen waves regally and takes a seat in a shaded throne high above the field. 

“Where are the knights, then?” Liam asks, and this time he sounds genuinely curious. 

“Keep looking.” Harry points to the far right side of the ring, where squires are opening a gate in the fence. A man standing next to the queen stands up and, in a ringing voice, announces the entrance of the knights. 

“Please welcome to the jousting ring, Sir Phillip!” he shouts as the first knight, on a large black warhorse draped in purple and gold, rides in and bows to the queen before retreating to the far corner of the ring. Half of the crowd on the opposite side of the ring cheers, and Harry realizes how they’ve split it up. Each side has been divided in half and each quadrant has been assigned one of the knights. Harry looks down at his little red and white flag, and wonders the name of the knight they’re cheering for. 

As the knights are called in, the cheers get louder and louder. Harry can barely discern the name of the next knight—Sir Ian—and the third, Sir Robert. Neither of them are in red and white, so the last knight must be his. On a beautiful white horse with a red and white blanket under the saddle, the last knight rides in without a helmet. Feathery chestnut hair kicks up in wisps all over his head, and his face is such a contradiction of softness and strong angles that Harry doesn’t know which of his features to focus on. His gaze drifts from the sharp blue eyes, so fierce and clear that he can see the color from where he’s sitting as they glint in the sun, to the fine cheekbones, to the surprisingly delicate nose and gently arched eyebrows. He looks young, maybe just a few years older than Harry at the most, but at the same time his easy, carefree smile makes him look agelessly brave. 

“He’s beautiful,” Harry mutters, earning himself a slap on the shoulder from Liam. “What? He is!” 

“No, I’m not whacking you for that. Have you seen his squire?” Liam asks, and Harry swears his roommate sounds almost faint. He manages to tear his focus from the red and white knight long enough to look for the person Liam’s talking about. On the ground, dusting off the saddle blanket, is a young man in the same colors, with darkly beautiful features. Deep eyes, a finely chiseled face—it’s obvious Liam has a crush, too. 

“Aww, Liaaaaaaaaam!” Harry sings. 

“Did you even hear the announcer say his name?” 

“Of course I—wait. No. I didn’t hear his name.” 

“It was Louis. He must be French.” 

“French?” Harry looks back at Louis, who’s getting ready for the joust just yards away. He’s in deep conversation with his squire, and Harry has a sudden burning desire to know exactly what it is they’re discussing. “French,” he repeats softly. Yeah, that seems to fit. Something about the softness of his features and the blue of his eyes gives him a vulnerability, almost—a human side to the myth. 

His squire hands him a ten-foot lance, which Louis takes in his right hand, then pulls a helmet on before taking a shield. “They’re gonna go, they’re gonna go.” Without looking away, Harry smacks Liam a few times to get him to pay attention. “Shit, oh god, I hope he doesn’t fall.” 

Liam, ever the source of information, says, “Well, the other knight isn’t looking to unhorse him as a primary goal. He’s looking to break his lance. It’s one point for a hit, two points for a hit that breaks the tip of the lance, and—” 

“I know the rules, Liam,” Harry huffs, a little offended. “I’ve been watching these since I was a kid. Three points for shattering the tip into fragments.” 

“And if the one of the knights falls, then the match continues with a duel on the ground. Otherwise, they have three passes at each other and it’s best two out of three,” Liam goes on while Harry rolls his eyes. 

“I know you like to talk, Liam, but will you please shut up and watch the joust?” Ignoring the rest of Liam’s lecture, Harry leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, watching the field—the lists, he reminds himself, as they’re also called. Liam will probably remind him of that, too, no doubt. Louis’ horse paws at the ground, snorting, and for a few seconds, the two knights just stare at each other from opposite ends while the crowd cheers on. Then, they charge. 

No matter how many times Harry sees the joust, he’ll never get enough. There’s something about the way the warhorse moves, at full gallop with a knight and hundreds of pounds of armor on its back; something about the concentration he can see in the knights’ eyes through the tiny slits left open in the helmet; something about the anticipation when the lances are lowered and the knights take aim at their targets. The other knight—Sir Ian, Harry remembers—lands a hit on the upper corner of Louis’ shield, throwing Louis’ aim off and his lance tip glancing off to the side. The impact throws him off-balance and he topples off his horse with a clatter. Sir Ian’s supporters, on the other side of the lists, cheer him on, but Harry only cares about the man on the ground. He’s not moving, and though Harry knows he’s not _dead_ , he could still be unconscious or have suffered a concussion. 

“Looked like he fell on his hip,” Liam comments. “He’s probably fine, but I don’t know how he’s going to pick up a sword and fight now. And sit back down, for god’s sake.” 

Somehow, though Harry hadn’t realized it until now, he’d jumped up once Louis went down. He supposes it was a jerk reaction out of concern. Sheepish, he sits back down so he won’t block anyone’s view. 

In the lists, Louis struggles to his feet while his dark-haired companion runs out to hand him a sword and a different shaped shield. Harry’s brow furrows, and he frowns. “He’s limping.” 

“He won’t last five minutes.” Liam checks his watch with a sigh. “Do you really want to stay? We both managed to forget the monthly meeting for WUSF and I really don’t want to be close to losing our time slot like we did last month.” 

Harry grabs Liam’s wrist, twists the watch face toward him, and makes a face when he sees the time. They really don’t have time, and if they miss this meeting, they’ll lose their radio show. With one last longing glance at the field, where Louis is doing his best to hold his own against the much taller and much burlier Sir Ian, Harry gets up and follows Liam toward the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! Leave a comment and let me know what you think, if you feel so inclined :) xx
> 
> [tumblr](http://maybetheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Louis limps away after a humiliating defeat in the lists, his face burning with a combination of a blush and a touch of the sun. He hasn’t had a defeat like that in years, but it wouldn’t have been quite so bad if he hadn’t fallen off his horse the way he did. Honestly, he has no idea how he lasted more than a few minutes on foot. The only good thing is that he has the helmet to hide his embarrassment. Everyone’s cheering supportively, which is nice, but he still _lost_. Hand clutched to his side, he wobbles back to his corner, calling for his squire. 

“Zayn, water?” 

Zayn runs up, a metal flask in his hands. “Just filled it up. But I think you need to lie down. What the hell happened out there?” 

“I don’t know. I feel like I fell off my horse the wrong way.” 

Zayn slides an arm around Louis’ waist, guiding him to a sitting position. “Where does it hurt?” 

“Right here.” Louis rubs a hand over the left side of his hipbone, the metal of his armor clanking with every movement. “Ow, shit.” 

“Does it hurt when you touch it?” 

“Not when I touch it, but when I press on it.” 

“Alright, well, don’t do that, then. Here. Drink something,” Zayn insists, waving the flask under Louis’ nose until the knight takes it. “And you know, I have something to tell you that might take your mind off the pain.” 

The tone in Zayn’s voice is uncharacteristically mischievous, almost singsong, and Louis looks up in confusion. “If Niall hit on another guy in a kilt today, I swear I’m going to talk to him about not being so damn touchy ‘cause not everyone plays along as much as he wants them to.” 

Zayn laughs. “S’got nothing to do with Niall. Listen, I saw this one guy in the crowd. Curly hair, plaid shirt. He looked so worried when you fell, like he jumped up and everything. It was kind of cute. _He_ was kind of cute,” he adds with a wink. 

“Oh, him?” Niall’s voice creeps up on them from behind, and Louis turns his head to see Niall leaning against the rope fencing off the lists. “Yeah, I saw him earlier. Walked with him to the joust and all. He was cool.” 

“Curly hair, you said?” Louis scratches under his jaw, trying to think. He does happen to remember a certain spectator who matched that description, an over-enthusiastic flag-waver who cheered louder for him than anybody else, and he smiles. “I do remember him, actually. Cute guy.” 

“Aww, does Lou have a crush on somebody?” Zayn teases, waggling an eyebrow. 

“Hey, don’t think I didn’t see you checking out his friend. Don’t even start.” Louis flicks his hair out of his face with the most regal air he can muster and stares straight ahead, refusing to give into Zayn’s provoking. 

“And don’t _you_ pull that ‘oh, I’m a knight, you are all peasants’ thing you do,” Zayn shoots back while Niall laughs more than the situation calls for. 

“I am not!” Louis scoffs. 

“You are so. That’s that look. Just admit it.” 

Just then, the trumpets sound again, signaling the end of the joust. Sit Philip has won, and he mounts his horse with a gracious wave to the court seated at the top of the hill before riding out. Sighing, Louis hands his horse’s reins to Zayn and pauses to run a hand through his hair and scan the crowd in search of the curly-haired boy. He doesn’t see him, though, and follows Zayn through a hidden path between a set of fences. On this side of the fence, it’s a madhouse. Costumes are everywhere, crowns and flower crowns take up every flat surface, and the smell of horses and manure would be repulsive to anyone who isn’t used to it. Thankfully, Louis is. 

The renaissance faire has been his home ever since he was born. His parents traveled the country with that very faire, so it was only natural for Louis to do the same. He grew up on the road with the fairies and knights, with the sounds of trumpets and clanging swords and waking up in a new town every couple of months. Though some of the other faire children complained about wanting to settle down and go to “regular school,” Louis had no such desire. He was in love with the traveling life—nothing excited him more than helping set up the tents and the decorations when they rolled into a new state. The knights of the faire were like movie stars to him—he looked at them with awe and a burning want to be just like them when he grew up. 

Now, at twenty-three, things haven’t changed a bit. Louis still loves the faire with all his heart, and he adores the children who come up to him the same wonder in their eyes that he used to have so many years ago. He has Zayn and Niall, both of whom he grew up with, so sometimes traveling the faire circuit feels like a guys’ road trip and he can’t think of a moment he hasn’t enjoyed. 

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when Ian comes up to him and claps him on the back. “Good joust, kid,” he tells Louis, taking his helmet off. 

Louis laughs good-naturedly. “Not so bad yourself, old man.” It’s a joke they have—Ian’s already thirty, and for some reason the age difference has become a bit of a running gag. It’s only seven years, but Louis still thinks thirty sounds old. Hell, he thinks twenty-three sounds old. 

“I saw that fall. You okay?” 

Louis nods and promptly stumbles over his own feet. “Shit. I think I’ll be fine, s’just a bit sore at the moment.” 

“Do you need to take tomorrow off?” 

After a moment’s consideration, Louis shakes his head. “I should be fine. I’m just gonna take it easy for the rest of the day.” 

“Good plan. You’re done for the day, so that’s good.” Ian sits down under a tree and Louis joins him. They’ve been friends for a long time, too—by now, Ian’s like some kind of cross between an older brother and a fun uncle. They’ve been told they look related, both with the same dark hair and light eyes, but Louis thinks that’s where the similarities end. Ian is tall and lanky, with a stronger face; Louis’ short and has a softer look to him. 

Niall skips up to him just then, Zayn behind him. “Hey, Lou, Zayn and I were gonna go walk around and try to find that curly-haired kid. Want to come?” 

“Niall, he really should rest up for tomorrow—” Zayn begins, but Louis cuts him off. 

“Let’s go.” 

Ian gives him a funny look, but Louis sticks his tongue out and follows his friends out the gate back into the faire. He’s still in his armor, so little kids run up to him asking for pictures and telling him how cool they think he is. Louis smiles at them, stopping for whatever they want. Some of the actors get irritated when it happens to them, especially when they’re trying to get somewhere, but Louis doesn’t mind it a bit. He smiles for pictures till his cheeks are sore, gives too many sweaty hugs to count, and even agrees to arm-wrestle one particularly ambitious eight-year-old. 

Niall and Zayn are good sports through it, talking to the parents while Louis interacts with their kids. Eventually, though, the grounds start to empty, the sun starts to get lower in the sky, and they still haven’t seen the curly-haired boy despite walking down every path in the faire at least six times. 

With a frown, Louis watches the performers pack up their instruments and costumes, and he knows they’re all done for the day. 

“Aw, don’t worry, Lou,” Niall says, patting him on the back amiably. “Maybe he’ll be back tomorrow, you never know.” 

“Or maybe he’ll just be the ‘what if’ in my life,” Louis exclaims dramatically as he pauses by the costume trailer to drop off his armor. “I’ll spend my years wondering what might have happened. He’ll haunt my dreams for the rest of my days and I’ll forever be wondering his name.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “ _Or_ , we could take you out drinking tonight and find you someone hot to hook up with and make you forget about Curly.” 

Niall’s eyes light up at the mention of drinks. “Fuck, yeah! C’mon, let’s go out. Celebrate the first day of the faire in Orlando.” 

“It’s Tampa,” Zayn corrects as they head back to the RV that the three of them share. It’s a complete mess most of the time, despite Niall’s attempts to clean up and Zayn’s half-hearted attempts to establish boundaries. 

“I’m calling the shower first,” Louis announces, pulling his shirt off and tossing it into a random bunk. From the sound of the protests behind him, it’s Zayn’s. Humming to himself, he showers quickly, rinsing off the dust and grime from both of the day’s events before wrapping himself in a towel and walking out. Niall is sprawled out on the couch in the front lounge on his phone and Zayn is nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Zayn?” 

Niall points toward the bunks while Zayn’s voice says, “I’m looking up bars in the area. I found one not too far from here. When d’you want to leave?” 

Louis peeks over at Niall’s phone. It’s half past six. “Does the place have food?” 

“No, but we can stop somewhere first. I remember seeing a plaza with just food places.” 

“Well, let’s go get food now, ‘cause I’m starving, and then head over to the bar when we’re done?” Louis suggests. 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

 

Two hours later, Niall pushes the doors to the bar open and they’re instantly bombarded with a wave of noise and odor. There are way too many people present for a building of this size, and Louis has a feeling it’s a fire hazard. The sound of multiple TVs all broadcasting different sporting events fills the room, and above that is the persistent loud laughter and chatter. 

“C’mon, what are you waiting for?” Niall grabs both of them by the hand and tugs them over to the bar. “Scotch on the rocks, please.” 

Louis hops up onto the seat next to Niall, resting his feet on the little rung underneath his chair. “Certainly a busy place.” 

“Yeah.” Zayn’s got his elbows up on the bar, looking out at the people. “What about him?” 

Louis makes a face. “Are you really trying to find me someone to hook up with?” 

“I’m being a good wingman.” 

“No, you’re being annoying.” 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please,” Niall cuts in. “Have a drink. Relax. We’re in Florida! Seven weeks in the same place! It beats traveling for days on end.” 

Louis smiles. Niall’s right—they live for the stretches of time spent in one city. It’s just enough to get used to their surroundings but not get too attached by the time they have to go. He orders some spiked lemonade and before long, he’s laughing at everything Niall says, not really knowing if it’s funny. A few guys around his age come up to him to flirt, and he flirts right back, accepting three or four numbers and thinking that maybe it’s just fine if he never sees the curly haired boy again. 

It’s almost eleven thirty when Zayn yells in his ear that it’s time to go back, that they need to rest up for the next day. As they leave, Louis spots someone in the crowd—a familiar-looking head of curls pushed back with a green scarf, and he pulls on Niall’s arm to get him to stop. “He’s here!” Louis shouts. “Look, by the bar!” 

Niall looks from Louis to where he’s pointing and shakes his head, laughing. “You’re so wasted, bud. C’mon, let’s get you home. I’ll tell Ian to get your replacement.” 

“No, no, no, I don’t need a replacement, I wanna go talk to Curly,” Louis mumbles, but he’s ignored. The walk back to their RV is fuzzy in his head, and before he knows it he’s in his bunk and out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still here, thank you! I really am glad you're liking it so far, and I hope you choose to stick around :) 
> 
>  [come cry with me](http://maybetheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

_Harry stands in the middle of the lists, the sun shining brightly overhead. The crowd is larger than he remembers—hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people sit around the field in bleachers sized for a football field. The cheers surround him like walls, bombarding him from every side, and he presses his palms against his ears with a grimace. Squinting, he peers around him. Great clouds of dust rise from both ends of the lists, like smoke coming out of a fog machine, and then the ground feels like it’s shaking underneath him. An earthquake in Florida? How strange._

_Harry takes one hand off his ear to shield his eyes while he peers through the clouds, trying to see what’s happening. As if in a dream, a warhorse gallops out of the dust, the knight on its back wielding a fierce-looking lance._

_“Shit!” Harry scrambles to run out of the way, but his uncoordinated limbs refuse to work and he trips over his own feet, falling to the ground with a mouthful of sand. He rolls onto his side and looks up to see that the horse is nearly on him; he can see the detail on the blanket around its neck, hear the sounds of exertion coming from the horse’s mouth._

_Suddenly, strong arms wrap around his waist from behind, dragging him to safety just as the horse barrels by inches from Harry’s feet._

_“Holy fuck, thanks.” Harry turns around to look at his rescuer and his mouth falls open. It’s Louis, the beautiful probably-French knight from the faire, and Harry swears that the smile on his face could probably make flowers grow._

_Louis mouths something, but no sound comes out._

_“Sorry?” Harry leans in closer. Before Louis speaks again, though, the sound of a loud slam draws Harry’s attention back to the lists._  

Harry’s green eyes fly open and he sits up straight in bed, groaning as he realizes the slamming sound in his dream is someone knocking on his door. 

“Just a minute!” he calls out in a sleep-drunk voice, throwing his blanket to the floor and stumbling out of bed. 

Harry opens the door to his perky RA and her clipboard. “Oh, hi, Perrie.” 

“Good morning, Harry!” she chirps. “Did I wake you?” 

“Hmm? Oh, uh, no, not at all,” he lies. “Why? Is something wrong?” 

“Nope! I’m just going around to say that the renaissance festival is offering special discounts for student season passes, if you were interested.” 

 _That_ wakes Harry up. “Oh! Yes, yes, I am definitely interested,” he tells her, running a hand through his hair. “Where do I get those?” 

“Just show them your USF student ID at the gate when you’re buying the pass.” Perrie grins. “That’s all!” 

“Well, thanks, Perrie,” Harry says with a smile. “I was actually going to go later today when it opens.” 

“Oh, tell me how it is! I was going to go next weekend, maybe.” 

“It’s wonderful, absolutely amazing,” Harry gushes. “I love it. I’ve been going every year since I was three and it never gets old. You’ll love it.” 

Perrie looks surprised at his enthusiasm, but she beams anyway. “That’s great to hear! Maybe I’ll come with you if you go again.” 

“I’ll be going quite a bit this year,” Harry mutters, half to himself with a little smile as he shuts the door. 

Liam is still asleep, snoring lightly on the other side of the room. A glance at the clock tells Harry it’s a little after eight. The faire opens at ten and Harry intends to be there as soon as possible. Maybe he’ll be able to meet this knight who has taken over even his unconscious thoughts. 

Two hours later, Harry buys the season pass with half the money he’d saved up from tips at the bakery and sighs happily as he goes through the gates again. He’s starting to think the faire would be a nice place to live. 

“Oi! You!” shouts a familiar voice from behind him. Unsure if he’s the one being spoken to, Harry turns around, looking for the person. 

“Yes, you! Curly hair and strange scarf on your head!” 

That’s definitely Harry. “Um, yes?” he calls out, scanning the crowd for the source of the voice. 

“S’me! Don’t ya remember me?” The voice draws Harry’s attention to several yards in front of him to where the blond man with the Irish accent from the day before is waving his arms, and Harry grins. 

“Of course I remember you! I’m just sad I never got your name.” 

The man does a little jig step, swinging his flask in the air. “Name’s Niall. At your service, sir,” he says with a flourish of his arm that ends with him tipping his flask upside down. 

“Whoops, careful bud.” Harry reaches out to right the flask so nothing spills. “A little early to be drinking, you think?” 

Niall shakes his head, the smile never leaving his face. “Never! Not for an Irishman. What can I do for you today…uh, what’s your name?” 

“I’m Harry. Harry Styles.” 

“Harry Styles!” Niall exclaims, drawing questioning glances from a few passersby. “What a name. Good name. A name to go with those curls. Listen, I’ve got a friend you should meet.” 

“A friend?” Offhandedly, Harry wonders if there’s a slight possibility that the friend Niall’s talking about happens to be Louis, but he pushes that thought out of his head. No sense getting excited about something that probably won’t even happen. “Sure. Who is it?” 

“I think you’ll really like him,” is all Niall says before he’s weaving through the crowd away from Harry, singing loudly at the top of his lungs. Harry thinks it might be an Irish tune but he doesn’t know. Niall leads him to a gap in the fence near the portable toilets, and Harry pauses. On the other side is where the actors are, and he’s not sure he’s allowed. 

“Come on, what’re you waiting for, lad?” Niall asks, pausing to wave Harry through. 

“Am I allowed?” 

“You’re with me, ya ninny.” Niall rolls his eyes amiably and runs back to physically tug Harry through the gates. Stumbling a little, Harry follows him behind the fence. 

The first thing that hits him is the sheer amount of noise. It’s not the same kind of noise, either—there are horses’ neighs, the clanking of armor, musicians tuning instruments, and of course, the din of a hundred different conversations. The second thing is how much of a mess the area is. He has to tiptoe carefully around costumes, props, and duffel bags lying on the ground to follow Niall. Four or five people stop to look him up and down, and Harry suddenly feels very out of place and conspicuous in his plain white t-shirt and skinny jeans. 

“Harry! You coming?” Niall shouts to him under a live oak tree thirty yards away, and Harry nods before continuing to pick his way through the maze.

Just behind the tree is a sleek, modern RV, white with black stripes running down the sides. “He’s in here?” 

Niall nods. “You’ll like him,” he tells Harry again before pulling the door open and walking right on in. “Hey, Lou! Found him, _and_ it’s only quarter to eleven. Do I get a prize?” 

 _Lou?_ Harry wonders. _Lou as in short for Louis?_ His hopes rising, he jumps up the steps after Niall. 

It _is_ Louis, and real, up close Louis is infinitely more incredible than far away Louis. He’s dressed simply in a tight red t-shirt and black skinny jeans, and is sprawled out on his back on the couch in the front lounge. He’s actually kind of small, a few inches shorter than Harry, probably. He looks at Harry with those piercing blue eyes and smiles, and it’s even better than it was in the dream. “Hey,” he says simply, and god, his voice. If his smile could grow flowers, his voice would make them bloom brilliant colors. 

“Hi,” Harry replies, unsure what he’s supposed to do now that he’s actually in the presence of the knight. 

“I saw you yesterday. Or, to be exact, Niall met you yesterday, and I happened to notice you in the audience during the joust afterward.” Louis’ eyes look like they’re dancing as he sits up and leans forward, looking up at Harry. 

“So you’re the friend Niall said he had in the joust,” is all Harry can think of to say. 

Louis laughs. Shit, Harry is so gone and he’s only just met the man. “That’d be me. And he didn’t tell you my name?” he asks with a glance to Niall. 

“He didn’t ask!” Niall protests, reaching out to push Louis over. “Dick.” 

Louis ignores him and pats the couch next to him. “Come on, you don’t have to stay standing there all by yourself.” 

Swallowing, Harry takes a seat, perched uncertainly on the very edge of the couch with his hands clasped in front of him. “So uh, I’m Harry,” he says. _Great. Very articulate, Styles_. 

“Harry,” Louis repeats, sounding like he’s rolling it around in his mouth to get a feel for it. “And I’m Louis. But you knew that from yesterday.” He grins cheekily, his demeanor so easy and relaxed compared to the nervousness Harry’s sure he’s emitting in tangible waves at this point. Since when did a pretty boy make him feel like a kid with a schoolyard crush? 

But Harry does his best to push all of those thoughts out of his head, and though he’d like very much to ask Louis to have dinner with him, he settles for safer questions. “Are you jousting today?” 

Louis shakes his head. “No, not today. Had a bit too much fun last night,” he tells Harry with a rueful laugh. “Too much to drink.” 

“And he’s shit at holding his alcohol,” Niall throws in. 

“Not all of us can be half-Irish!” Louis shoots back, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. The neck of his shirt dips a little, and Harry can see the outlines of a tattoo across his chest. “Anyway. I woke up this morning and I felt like absolute shit, so I decided it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to get on a horse and start swinging swords around.” 

“So what happens if you don’t joust? Do they have extra knights or what?” Harry asks curiously. 

“I have a replacement. Kind of like an understudy for a play, you know?” Louis explains. “So we called him up and told him hey, you’re going in for me today, good luck. And I get the day off!” 

Harry deflates a little at that, having hoped to see Louis in action again. “So you’re not doing anything today?” 

Louis shrugs, looking at Harry. “Well, I mean, since you came all the way here, I can show you around. Ever been here before?” 

“Every year since I was three.” 

Louis whistles in appreciation. “Good god. You’ve been here almost as long as me.” 

“Almost?” 

“I grew up in here,” Louis says with a smile. “My parents did it, and now I’m doing it. It’s been fun. Twenty-three years and somehow, it still hasn’t lost its magic.” 

“It never does.” Harry shakes his head. “I thought it might, but I mean, here I still am. If you’ve been with the faire your whole life, why haven’t I seen you before?” 

“Could just be chance,” Louis says. “Did you come every weekend when you were a kid?” 

“No, we always used to come on the third weekend. This is the first year I’m coming opening weekend.”

“Ah, there you go. I take the third weekend off,” Louis tells him. “Funny, that.” 

“But I’m here now!” Harry exclaims happily. 

“So I guess there’s not much to show you then, huh, Harry?” Niall chimes in. Harry had kind of forgotten he was still here. 

Louis gives his friend an eyeroll to rival a teenage girl’s. “I’ll take him through here. Let him see the costumes and the horses and everything.” 

Niall’s eyes widen almost comically. “Is that even allowed?” 

“It is, because I said so,” Louis declares, standing up and brushing his jeans off even though Harry can’t see anything. Louis’ hands are now eye-level, and Harry gets a good look at the tattoos covering the man’s arms. They don’t make any sense at all—a compass, a skull, a globe, a paper airplane, a rope. He’s sure they must have their own meanings…somehow. 

“You coming?” Louis’ melodic voice cuts through Harry’s musings, and he realizes he’s been staring. Harry looks up and Louis seems to be holding back a smile. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Harry stands up, straightening his shirt out, and follows Louis out of the bus. 

“What about me?” Niall wants to know, poking his head out the door. 

Louis laughs yet again, and Harry really wants to be the reason he laughs. “You didn’t get a replacement,” he retorts with a grin. “Don’t you have men in kilts to go hit on?” 

Harry doesn’t really get it, but he supposes it’s an inside joke because Niall blushes bright red. “It was one time!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis waves him off as he heads away from the bus. “I’ll see you back here before the noon joust, okay?” 

Niall mutters something along the lines of “stupid knights” and scurries into a tent. 

Harry watches him go and, as he trips over water bottles and spare weapons lying on the ground in an attempt to keep up with Louis, asks him, “How long have you known Niall for?” 

“I grew up with him. Zayn, too—uh, my squire. You saw him yesterday in the lists with me. But yeah, all of our families did it and we were along for the ride.” 

“And they like it, too?” 

“All of us do.” Louis smiles, motioning vaguely to everyone around them. “This isn’t exactly the kind of thing you do half-heartedly. You’ve really got to love it, and we all do. Now come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are...and by we I mean Harry and Louis, finally meeting like normal people. Thanks for reading loves!
> 
>  [tumblr](http://maybetheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this chapter being so late! I tried doing NaNoWriMo (which is another story altogether that doesn't have a good ending) but anyway, here we are again...Harry and Louis have finally met, names were exchanged, and now they're off to explore the faire. And away we (they) go!

If Niall called the replacement Louis thinks he did, then he knows exactly where he’s off to next. “Hey, Nick!” he yells. 

About fifty yards away, a man with a big quiff and an even bigger ego picks his head up from where he’s digging in a duffel bag. “Tomlinson! Why’m I replacing you so early in the season, huh?” 

Louis laughs and sprints over to him as he hears Harry follow closely. “Ah, reasons. You know.” 

Nick raises an eyebrow. “What, are you sore after this pretty boy or something?” 

Louis blushes deeply at the implication. “Shut _up_ , Nick, no. I’ve only just met him.” 

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” 

Harry looks more than a little awkward standing behind and slightly to the side, so Louis brings Harry to stand alongside him. “ _Anyway_. This is Harry. Harry, this is Nick. Nick’s my replacement. Not nearly as good with the lance as I am, but the ladies seem to love him anyway.” Thankfully, Harry picks up on the double entendre and chuckles; Nick just rolls his eyes and Louis laughs. “Ever the drama queen, Nick.” 

“You’re insulting me. I think I have every right to be dramatic.” 

“We’re all actors, we’re all dramatic.” Louis glances over at Harry. “So if you go and see the joust later on, you’ll see this one in the red and white instead of me. But I promise I’ll be back for the rest of the faire.” Smiling, Louis g­rabs Harry’s hand without thinking and starts pulling him away from Nick. It’s only when he hears Nick wolf-whistling after them that it registers in his mind—he’s walking around holding _hands_ with this boy he’s only just met. It’s one thing to dance and flirt and grind on boys he’s just met, but this feels comfortably intimate. The fact that his hand is so much smaller than Harry’s is definitely not distracting, not at all. 

Huffing at himself, Louis glances around, wondering where to take Harry next. His eyes alight on the horse trailers, and he immediately sets off in that direction. A soft “oof” behind him makes him turn, and he winces at the sight of Harry picking himself up off the ground. “Shit, what happened, bud?” 

Harry grins and looked sheepish. “Tripped over a canteen,” he says, pointing to a metal flask lying on the ground. 

“The clumsy type, are you?” Louis teases, and at first he worries he’s teasing a bit too much but then Harry blushes, which is actually really cute. It makes him look a little like a puppy. “Come on. We’ll go and see the horses.” He debates taking Harry’s hand again, and he’s made up his mind not to when he feels Harry slip his hand into his own. Biting back a ridiculous grin, Louis leads Harry toward a shiny silver horse trailer with the back open. He looks back and the expression on Harry’s face is priceless. It’s a mix of amazement, intimidation, and excitement that makes him look like a child, and Louis thinks it’s the most beautiful face Harry’s made so far. 

“Is he yours?” Harry asks, nearing the horse in the back of the trailer. 

Louis grins proudly. “Yup. His name’s Phantom, ‘cause he’s white.” He thinks of Phantom as his best nonhuman friend, though he’s only had him for four years. It might just be bias, but Louis considers Phantom the most responsive, the most agile, and the most fearless of all the horses in the faire. Then again, Zayn insists it’s all due to Phantom’s rider. Louis walks up to him and presses a kiss between his eyes, rubbing his side and feeling Phantom lean into the touch. 

“He’s so beautiful.” Harry takes a few steps toward the two before stopping suddenly. “Can I pet him?”

“Of course you can.” Louis looks on as Harry extends a shy hand, and laughs when Phantom judges it with his nose. “Oh, I bet he thinks you have food. He loves carrots,” he tells Harry before patting Phantom’s neck. “Hey, boy. This is Harry. He’s a friend, yeah? Be nice. You get a day off today, don’t you? You glad to have a break?” Phantom snorts in response and both men laugh. 

“How many horses does the faire have?” 

Louis thinks for a moment. “I actually have never counted,” he admits. “I’d guess about a dozen. Maybe more, maybe less. I know each of the knights has one, and so do their replacements. And there might be more acts with horses that I’m just not thinking of right now.” He shrugs, giving Phantom one last kiss before walking away from the trailer. 

“Don’t you have to be back soon?” 

“Uh”—Louis checks the time on his phone—“not quite yet. It’s only eleven-thirty. Hey, want to see our armory before we go back?” 

Harry’s eyes light up, and the sight makes Louis happy that he was the one to bring that light to Harry’s face. As soon as he has the thought, though, he wants to smack himself. Christ, it’s like you’re in some kind of weird version of a rom com. In fact, he’s so busy scolding himself that he misses Harry’s answer. “Sorry, was that a yes or a no?” 

Harry just smiles serenely. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to see it.” 

“Ah, good! This way, then. D’you see that tent all the way over here?” Louis points to a black tent with red flaps set up near another oak tree. “Red flaps?” 

“Yeah. Is that it?” 

“Mhmm. That’s where we keep the ones that we use regularly. There’s another trailer for extras. Y’know, for when swords and shields break and stuff. And of course, all the lances. We go through those faster than Niall can go through a six-pack of beer,” Louis jokes. 

“Can he really?” Out of everything Louis just said, the thing that Harry chooses to question is Niall’s drinking habits. 

Shaking his head, Louis answers, “I can’t make this stuff up. He’s half-Irish, but he might as well be full Irish because that’s how he drinks. Meanwhile, two drinks in and I’m on my way to plastered in no time,” he adds with a little shrug before deciding to start trying to ask Harry some questions of his own. What kind of person was he, talking about nothing but himself? “You much of a drinker? Wait, are you even twenty-one?” 

Harry laughs easily. “No, I’m not a big drinker either, but I _am_ twenty-one, in fact. Wait, let me guess, you were about to say I look young, right?” 

Louis just raises his eyebrows and nods, wondering how Harry knew. He supposes the boy must get that a lot. 

“Eh, I get that a lot,” Harry says with a tilt of his head. “Though sometimes people also tell me I look old, so I’m not really sure which one to believe.” 

Now he’s wondering how the hell Harry can read his mind. Shaking his head as though he can somehow scramble the link between them, he sets off, Harry following close behind. Louis doesn’t think about holding hands with him again, of course not. Once they reach the armory tent, he motions for Harry to wait outside for a moment. 

“Hey, Ed!” Louis shouts into the tent. “You in here?” 

Somewhere in the back, a ginger-haired man a few years older than Louis pops up from behind a rack of swords. “Hey, Lou. Did you need something? I thought you were off today.” 

Louis grins. “I am. But I’ve got a friend with me—can I show him the tent?” 

“Of course! Bring him in.” Ed smiles widely, and Louis wonders if there’s ever been a time Ed’s been less than a hundred percent cheerful. 

When Louis goes back outside to find Harry, the latter is on his knees surrounded by—children? Younger faire kids, all of whom Louis knows and plays with and looks after sometimes when their parents are busy. One of them, a four-year-old girl named Lea with flowers in her hair, is currently on her tiptoes trying to tuck a daisy into Harry’s hair. Beaming, Harry ducks his head lower to let the girl stick the stem between his curls. 

“Thank you,” he tells her with a warm smile. 

Louis watches the scene for a few moments. Harry seems so at ease, interacting with the kids so naturally, that Louis could see him in costume mingling with the crowds. It’s sweet to watch his facial expressions, a little exaggerated as he speaks to the children, but he never looks anything less than delighted. 

Something else Louis notices is that Harry has dimples. Fucking _dimples_. How the hell did he not notice that earlier? Not wanting to interrupt, he waits, until Harry looks up and spots Louis standing by the entrance to the tent. Louis grins. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Slowly, Harry stands up and walks over to Louis, while the children scatter. 

Louis waves a hand. “No, never apologize. It was cute. They took quite a liking to you pretty fast, huh?” 

Harry lowers his gaze to stare at the ground. “I like kids. And I guess they like me.” 

“You’re good with them,” Louis tells him, and he means it. Harry smiles, making the dimples come out, and _wow_ , alright, Louis needs to stop staring before Harry notices. 

Harry notices. “What? Do I have something on my face?” 

“Yeah. Right here.” Louis reaches out and pokes Harry square in the left dimple. “They’re cute. Leave them.” 

Harry blushes and Louis isn’t entirely sure he’s even real at this point. Shaking his head, he pushes the tent flaps open. Ed’s with a table of battleaxes now, polishing the blades. “Hey! Is this the friend?” 

“That he is. Ed, this is Harry. Harry, this is Ed. Ed’s in charge of the armory. So basically, he gives us the tools to kill each other,” Louis says, taking a sword from the rack, “and then makes sure we don’t.” He runs his finger over the edge. “Dulling edges, giving us armor, all that stuff. There wouldn’t be a renaissance festival without him.” He looks back to throw Ed a charming, grateful grin while he gently places the sword back in its slot. 

“There certainly wouldn’t. You all would’ve killed yourselves ages ago,” Ed replies cheerfully, pulling some throwing stars out of a box. “What the fuck—where’s Jesy? She was _supposed_ to take these to Cheryl this morning—damnit. Louis, don’t kill anybody.” He rushes out of the tent in a blur of red hair and bluster, and Louis laughs. 

“That’s Ed for you.” He looks back at Harry, who is wandering around the tent with wide eyes and his arms stiffly at his side. “What are you doing?” 

“Um, looking?” Harry appears confused by the question, so Louis walks back to him and tugs on one wrist. 

“You’re not gonna break anything. Don’t worry.” Louis gives him a smile that he thought was reassuring, but Harry just shakes his head frantically. 

“You saw me trip over that canteen out there. I’m a klutz,” Harry moans in a tone of despair. Hell, with his dramatics and his pied piper-like children skills, he’d be a hit working for the faire. 

“You’ll be _fine_ ,” Louis insists. “You know Niall? The blond Irish one?” 

“What about him?” 

“He’s an even bigger klutz, I promise. Why d’you think we have him play the town drunk? That’s not acting when he waddles around and trips on things.” Louis quirks his lips in a teasing grin. He’s not entirely lying, but he might be exaggerating Niall’s clumsiness just a bit. But it’s for Harry’s benefit, so it’s a worthy cause. 

It seems to work, because Harry’s returning the smile, and his arms relax. 

“Want to hold something?” Louis picks up a shield, hefting it on his left arm. 

Harry’s expression lights up, and for a moment Louis thinks he can picture the little boy Harry used to be whose eyes never lost the initial wonder. Harry looks like he’s about to say yes, but then a random Kacey Musgraves song starts playing out of nowhere and Harry’s pulling out his phone sheepishly. “Sorry,” he apologizes before answering the call. 

Louis walks away some to let Harry have his conversation and busies himself with the box of ninja stars. He remembers Cheryl, their resident expert on throwing stars, teaching him how to properly hold one way back when he was six, and sometimes when he’s bored, he’ll head over to where she’s running the star-throwing booth for the visitors and hurl a few at the target. He’s gotten quite good, but nowhere near as good as Cheryl or Jesy. Or even Ed, for that matter. 

Louis picks one up, tracing over the edges with the soft caress of a fingertip, before settling it between his thumb and forefinger the way he’d been taught. Shutting one eye, he sets his aim at an imaginary target, flicking his wrist just a little to mimic the full movement. He doesn’t even notice Harry standing behind him until he draws his elbow back, hits something solid, and hears a soft “ouch” in response. 

“Shit!” Louis quickly drops the star and whirls around. “You okay? Sorry about that. I got a little lost. Oh, is it time to go?” 

Louis reaches into his pocket for his phone, meaning to check the time, but Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. Louis just stares, because _holy shit_ Harry has massive hands. He bets Harry’s fingers are a half inch longer than his, and on the topic of fingers… _No_. _Louis, stop._

“Louis?” 

Harry’s voice brings him back to innocent thoughts, and Louis drags his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Sorry, what?” 

“Um,” Harry begins, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “I really would love to stay and watch the joust, really, but my roommate’s kind of pissed off at me…I should get back.” 

“Roommate,” Louis repeats. “Yeah, of course. You go to the college right here?” 

Harry nods and smiles. “Mhmm.” 

“So can I expect to see you back next week?” It sounds way too much like a pick-up line or an obvious come-on to Louis, and he inwardly grimaces, but Harry just keeps smiling. Damn those dimples. 

“Yup! I’ll be back. Don’t fall next week, maybe.” 

Oh, so now Harry’s teasing back. Between that and the dimples and how good he is with the kids, Louis might just have found that someone worth fighting for, even if it _is_ in a joust solely for show. “Can’t promise anything.” 

“For me?” Harry makes a fake pouty face, and alright, Harry really should leave before Louis dies. 

“Yeah, sure. For you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! 
> 
>  [tumblr](http://maybetheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek, this chapter took forever and I'm so sorry! The holidays and moving back home took up a lot of energy and time but I'm back, I'm writing again, and I'm heading back to uni in a few weeks so I'll have a lot more free time to write then :)

Liam accuses Harry of being “stupidly infatuated”—Liam’s words, not Harry’s. And that’s without Harry telling him about the dreams. 

They’re all similar to the first one in that Harry’s always stuck in the lists and Louis always saves him. But sometimes Louis rides in on Phantom, plucks Harry off the ground, and heaves him up onto his horse’s back. Sometimes Louis stands in front of Harry protectively, sword brandished, and stays there fearlessly until the horse charging toward them comes to a stop. 

Harry might have finally met him, but clearly that’s not enough to make him stop thinking of Louis as some kind of hero. A literal knight in shining armor. 

It’s Harry week to make the playlist for their WUSF radio show, so he swings by the station manager’s office to drop off the list on Tuesday. Jaymi looks over the list and gives Harry a funny look. 

“Well, this is an…interesting playlist.” 

Harry just smiles serenely and skips out. 

The next night, Harry’s in the studio with his headphones on, a microphone at his mouth, and a Liam next to him who’s rolling his eyes so hard Harry’s worried he might lose one. 

“Evening, everyone! So, this week, I was thinking. We tend to play some random stuff a lot of the time, yeah? We love sharing the music we love you guys, but we never really thought about a theme before. So that brings us to tonight. It’s the same _kind_ of stuff you guys know us for, but tonight, they’re all in the vein of love. First, we have ‘Call to Arms’ by Angels  & Airwaves.’” 

Liam whacks Harry on the arm so hard that Harry thinks the mic might have picked up the sound. He just puts on the first song and sits back, hands laced behind his head. The rest of the hour goes exactly like that. Liam barely says a word throughout the entire show, staying stone silent through the likes of The Temper Trap’s “Sweet Disposition,” Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros’ “Home,” and The Fray’s “Look After You.” Harry makes up an excuse to cover, saying Liam has a sore throat. 

On Friday afternoon over a lunch of Panda Express, after snapping his fingers in front of Harry’s face yet again, Liam announces that he’s had to shake Harry out of daydreams an average of six times a day. More than a few people give their table strange looks at the announcement, but Harry just rolls his eyes and asks Liam to go with him the next day. 

“You’re fucking obsessed, man. It’s creepy. Isn’t this like stalking?” 

“It’s not stalking if we’re friends.” 

“Are you really friends? You met him once. Do you have his number?” 

Harry falters, because no, he doesn’t have Louis’ number. “It’s your fault. You were the one who wouldn’t stop texting me to come back that morning. I could have gotten it.” 

“Don’t blame me.” Liam makes a face, and Harry knows his best friend well enough to know that there’s never any real animosity behind their arguments. They just need it sometimes, have to have the requisite best friend spats every now and then. Liam says it strengthens friendships. Harry says it strengthens his debating skills. 

“I _am_ blaming you,” is what he ends up shooting back. 

“Fine, so you go back to get his number. Big whoop. I’m not going.” 

Harry retaliates by pointing out that if Liam comes, he can meet Louis’ mysterious beautiful squire boy. After a full thirty seconds of nonsensical sputtering, Liam gives in. Harry beams like an angel. 

Liam might have given in, but it doesn’t mean he acts very excited to go. To Harry’s annoyance, Liam wakes up at ten fifteen, takes too long getting dressed, and can’t find his socks. Unsure if it’s a conscious effort to stall or just being stupidly self-conscious at the thought of meeting Louis’ squire, Harry throws a pair of flip-flops at Liam, along with a polo shirt that’s only minimally wrinkled, and tells him to hurry the fuck up. 

Liam hurries, muttering something about stress and how Harry almost never shouts. 

Harry pauses just long enough at the gate to flash his season pass before taking off toward the lists. It’s after twelve o’clock already, no thanks to Liam, and if Harry misses any second of Louis jousting he just might scream into one of the straw pillows for sale by the entrance. 

Ignoring the protests from the rest of the audience, he slides onto a hay bale in the front row and breathes a sigh of relief. Louis’ all suited up, at the far end of the lists, and Harry’s sitting in the wrong section but if he moves, he’d have to take his eyes away and no, he didn’t almost knock over a little girl for that. 

“Harry!” Liam hisses in his ear, rushing over and sitting on the ground next to Harry’s end of the hay bale. “Are you crazy?” 

“Shut up and watch. There’s your boy.” Harry points to the squire, who’s handing Louis his helmet, and smirks at Liam’s face. He can see the irritation fade before his eyes, watch the creases in Liam’s forehead disappear only to be replaced with a fond raise of the eyebrows and a tiny smile at the edges of his lips. “See? There you go. Aren’t you glad you came now?” 

Liam only makes a noncommittal little _hmph_ , but Harry counts it as a small victory. Just as he looks back to the field, he catches Louis’ eye. Or at least he thinks he does. Louis’ sharp blue eyes turn in his direction and stay there. Whether he’s actually looking at Harry is debatable, but Harry likes to think that he was; Louis gets a big, wonderful grin on his face and Harry can see all the way from where he’s sitting. Still smiling, Louis pulls his visor down, leaving only his eyes visible through the slits in the helmet. It might just be the metal glinting, but Harry swears he sees Louis’ eyes literally shining with confidence. 

When Louis takes off, Harry is the only one in his section who stands up and cheers. Liam rolls his eyes and tugs on Harry’s sleeve to try to get him to sit down, but Harry pulls his arm away and waves his little red and white flag. 

“You brought that?” Liam hisses. 

Of course Harry brought it. You don’t go to a sports game without wearing your team’s colors. Liam of all people should know that, the big Tampa Bay Buccaneers fan that he is. But Harry doesn’t say any of that out loud, settling for calling Louis’ name at the top of his lungs. 

The man in costume prowling around the perimeter of his section points and gasps dramatically. “Traitor! We have a traitor in our midst!” he exclaims, prompting the crowd to titter. 

“Told you,” Liam mutters. Harry leaves him behind and scuttles off to Louis’ section while the man continues to shout at him. 

He might just be imagining it, but he feels like every time Louis looks to the crowd, he’s looking directly at Harry. Louis likes to scan the crowd and smile graciously, as some kind of acknowledgment—sometimes he’ll wave, or incline his head. Now that Harry’s in the right sector of the crowd, he doesn’t hold back his enthusiasm. He suspects he’s probably more into it than the rest of them, though. How can anybody sit staring at their phone when _Louis_ is out there completely owning the lists? 

It’s hardly even a contest. Louis’ lance hits it mark every time, and when he dismounts to fight on foot, he moves like a demon. The clanging of sword against armor fills the air, and Harry feels like a mother watching her child win a spelling bee, or something. 

The thing about watching the joust, for Harry, has always been this. Losing himself in the fight, forgetting that he’s got a cell phone in his pocket and mountains of homework waiting for him at home. Walking into the renaissance festival is one thing, but this takes the immersion to a completely different level. This, this is visceral. 

The joust ends, and Louis, the victor, bows respectfully to the queen before looking right at Harry. It’s not a guess, either—Harry’s eyes lock with Louis’ blue crystals, and Louis winks at him before turning and sauntering off with Zayn and Phantom. 

“Harry _fucking_ Styles!” 

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” Harry says with a sigh as Liam storms up to him. 

“Stop leaving me alone!” 

“Stop being a lump,” Harry mutters in response. Liam either doesn’t hear or pretends not to, so Harry keeps talking. “Did you see that? Wasn’t that amazing? He’s so amazing.” 

Liam lets out some kind of strangled noise, and Harry thinks it’s something he said when he notices Louis’ squire, whose name he still doesn’t know, looking in their direction and pointing. “Why is he pointing at me?” Liam wants to know. 

Harry shrugs. “Best way to find out is to go and ask him.” 

“Yeah, yeah right.” Liam rolls his eyes, then appears to reconsider. “Actually,” he says, very thoughtfully, “I think I will. Because I’m not going to be creepy and weird and obsessive about it.” 

“Hey!” Harry’s really very offended at that. “I’m not creepy. Or weird. Or obsessive.” 

Liam just stares. “You dedicated the entire radio show to him on Wednesday and you’ve only just learned his name, like, last week. That’s a little weird.” 

Harry thinks Liam is the weird one, but he doesn’t get a chance to say that before Liam is walking away from him toward Louis’ squire. As he watches, Louis hands the reins of his horse to his squire and dashes off; Harry feels the corners of his mouth pull down. He really wanted to talk to him. 

“Hey! Hey, Harry!” calls Niall’s familiar voice. 

“Yeah? What is it?” 

Niall runs up to him, huffing and puffing like he’s just run a marathon. “Here. Lou said to give this to you.” He tosses a tiny piece of paper at Harry before bending over and resting his hands on his knees, wheezing. 

“Careful, bud. You sound like you’re dying or something,” Harry mutters, unrolling the little paper. It’s a phone number, with Louis’ name scrawled underneath, along with a little smiley face. “Wow. This is his smooth, romantic way of giving me his number?” he jokes. 

Niall shrugs. “I know he wanted to give you it himself, but he had to run. Something up with Ed and Nick—I think you met them yesterday, right?” 

“Both of them, yeah. Is everything alright?” 

“I think so. Probably just another bit of fisticuffs or something. You know how those knights are.” 

Harry doesn’t, but he laughs along anyway and hopes that by the end of the summer, he’ll understand. 

~ 

The nice thing about the renaissance faire is losing himself for a few hours and forgetting the stresses of the rest of his life. The unfortunate side effect is the very real fact that when he gets back to his dorm, he has a very real fifteen-page paper due the day after tomorrow. So far, he has his introduction done, as well as the careful choosing of a font that will bump up the page count but not in an obvious way. Liam had rolled his eyes and told Harry to just write the damn thing. Harry smiles and stares out the window wondering if it’s too late to change his topic to jousting. 

At three-thirty in the morning, Harry has two pages finished. Tired and ready to throw in the towel for the night, he knows he needs all of the next day if he wants to finish it by his nine o’clock class on Monday morning. Which also means no renaissance festival. Well, nobody ever said Harry had _no_ self-control. 

 _Hi Louis it’s Harry listen I can’t come to the faire tomorrow cause big paper’s due Monday and I have like none of it done :(_  

He doesn’t expect Louis to reply at the hour it is, but he does. 

 _no problem i understand, that’s important. hey why don’t we all get together for drinks later this week?_

_Sure!! The bulls club has nickel beers Thursday night, have you been there yet?_  

_nope! sounds like a great time tho let’s go!_

The prospect of seeing Louis outside of the faire as a normal person has Harry smiling to himself as he shuts off his desk lamp and crawls into bed. On the other side of the room, Liam snores and rolls over. Harry throws a sock at him. Not even Liam’s snoring disrupts Harry’s dreams of Louis that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck with me, thank you thank you so much :)
> 
>  
> 
> [say hi on tumblr pls](http://maybetheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drinks always lead to a good time, right? I'm finally back at uni with a lot more time on my hands, so my goal is to have this whole thing done by the time the summer starts. Thank you so much for staying with me!

Liam seems to have had some kind of idea in his head that he was going to play the daddy of the group and keep everybody sober. That idea seems to have gone out the window somewhere around ten-thirty. Or maybe it was eleven-thirty—Louis isn’t the most conscious of things like time after a couple of beers. 

Laughing, Louis looks over to Niall, only to find him gone and replaced by a certain curly-haired boy. “Harryyyyyyy,” he drawls, throwing his arms around the boy and leaning into him. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Lou, you’re a little drunk, I think,” Harry tells him, but the way his eyes are just a little too shiny and too many colors tells Louis that he’s not a hundred percent sober either. Alright, maybe that last part is just Louis. 

“Yeah, but being drunk is fun,” Louis protests. 

On his other side, Zayn gives him a bit of a glare. “Last time you got drunk you took a day off.” 

“But I don’t have the joust tomorrow. It’s Wednesday and we don’t have it till Saturday. I’ll sleep all day tomorrow and be fine for Saturday.” Louis is proud of his logic. He turns back to Harry, ready to pull out of the begging eyes. “Please can we go dance?” 

Thankfully, Harry acquiesces, and Louis slides off the barstool with more grace than he should possess at the moment. His hand is enveloped in Harry’s much larger one, and Louis can’t help but stare at it as he tugs Harry toward the dance floor. On the way, he sees other guys approach him with smiles, then back away when they see that he’s with Harry. It makes Louis a little proud, strangely, to finally go out and be turning down guys because he came with somebody. As they near the center of the floor, the lights get brighter, the music louder, and the air hotter. 

Suddenly, Louis feels a slight tug on his hand, and he pauses to see that Harry is hanging back. “What the matter, babe?” 

Harry just picks at his fingernails, muttering something about being shy. Louis’ first reaction is to roll his eyes, but he decides to take a different approach instead. “Come on, it’ll be fine,” he says, lowering his voice and stepping closer to slide his fingers up Harry’s arm. “What are you worried about?” Feeling daring with so many shots in his system, he darts his tongue out to lips his lips before standing up on his toes to give Harry a kiss on the lips.

Suddenly, Louis finds himself spun around, facing away from Harry, with his body pressed up to Harry’s. There’s hot breath on his ear and hands on his hips, roaming over his body and making him feel hot all over. “You have the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen,” Harry murmurs in his ear, low and almost dirty sounding. 

Smirking, Louis responds by grinding said ass back against Harry, hands finding Harry’s and squeezing tightly. The taller male gives a noise of surprise, fingers slipping under Louis’ t-shirt to tap out the beat of the music on his skin. “D’you see how many people are looking at you right now? Watching you do that?” 

The words make Louis’ cheeks turn pink with a blush, and yeah, he does see more than a few people eyeing him at the moment. But he only cares about the one behind him, so he tips his head back to do a little whispering of his own. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one, then?” 

“Lucky enough to take you back to mine so I can have you to myself?” 

Harry doesn’t miss a beat, making Louis falter and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, which is, “Guess who doesn’t have to stay up all night to get lucky, then.” 

Harry’s laugh is unexpected and beautiful, and then Louis gets a kiss on the cheek before Harry’s pulling him toward the door. “Bye,” Louis sings, waving to Niall, Liam, and Zayn. Niall smirks, Zayn sighs, and Liam looks like he’s going to protest but the next thing Louis knows, he’s out on the street and Harry is walking him down the sidewalk. 

“Where we goin’?” Louis wants to know, looking around and making the mistake to looking directly into a streetlight. 

“Back to my dorm.” Harry points vaguely ahead of them. “S’not far from here.” 

“Promise?” 

For some reason, Harry laughs again, and Louis doesn’t know why but he does know that he really, really likes Harry’s laugh. “I promise, Lou.” They stop under the streetlight, Harry hunching his big self over to nuzzle into Louis’ neck. “Smell nice.” 

Louis scrunches his nose up and pushes weakly at Harry’s face. “You’re weird. Wait till we get home.” 

He counts three, then four breaths on his neck until Harry pulls away and they start walking again. “‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,’” Harry sings. Louis tries to hum along, even though he doesn’t know the song, so he just hums the same line over and over. Harry, to his credit, doesn’t tell Louis to stop until they’re standing outside Harry’s residence hall. Louis, thankfully, is alert enough to take his license out and hand it to Harry so he can be signed in. He’s impatient, though, wishing the process wouldn’t take so damn long because he has a Harry there with him, a real live curly-haired boy that he wants so much to touch and kiss all over and— 

“Come on,” Harry whispers in his ear, breaking his train of thought, and Louis follows him into the elevator. He leans in to Harry with the intention of kissing him but before he can do that, the doors are already opening and they’re in a long hallway. Louis thinks it would be fun to skip down it, and Harry seems to agree because they arrive at his door giggling and bright-eyed. Harry chuckles prettily while he fumbles with the key, and the door opens into darkness. Light from the streetlamps filters in through the window, letting Louis see enough to find the bed and flop down on it. 

“Harry, come here,” he asks, holding his arms out. Harry joins him, but not in the way Louis thought. Propping himself up on his elbows, Louis watches, mesmerized, as Harry undoes his jeans without a hitch, pulling them down and leaving Louis’ lower half bare. 

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry mutters, his ridiculously large hand gripping the base of Louis’ half-hard cock and Louis groans a little at that, hips already trying to thrust up. 

He wants to tell Harry what he wants, but the words are all jumbled in his head and he doesn’t really _know_ what he wants. Harry can make him feel good and that’s what he tries to ask for but his mouth decides on something else and “I wanna fuck you” comes out instead. 

When Harry doesn’t respond, Louis sits up further to try to read his expression. In the dim illumination provided by the light streaming in, he can see patches of color on Harry’s face that weren’t there before. “Shit. I, uh—” 

Louis starts to backpedal, worry cutting through the fuzziness in his head like a crystal, but Harry puts a hand over Louis’ mouth and hushes him. Then he leans in close, lingering for a long moment. “Want you to, Lou.” 

And, well then. Louis can work with that. He reaches through the darkness for Harry’s shirt. They’re both far too clothed right now and he doesn’t like that. Harry tosses both of their shirts on the floor in a tangled heap on top of Louis’ clothes and wriggles out of his own tight jeans gracelessly. Like a baby giraffe, Louis thinks, and laughs aloud. 

Harry, however, must think Louis is laughing at something else, because he frowns and says, in a deeply offended voice, “They were a joke gift, okay?” 

Louis’ completely lost until Harry motions to the neon pink boxers he’s wearing. Snorting with laughter, Louis shakes his head. “No, s’not that, I was just thinking like—you’re kind of—oh, never mind.” Louis crawls over to the edge of his bed, reaches toward the desk, and opens the top drawer, rooting around for lube and a condom. After successfully finding both, he walks up on his knees back to Harry to find the younger sprawled out, looking like long-limbed perfection. “Fuck,” Louis mutters, crawling closer, palming himself with his free hand. Harry’s cock is fully hard, curved up toward his navel and leaking already. “Jesus, Harry.” 

“Hurry,” Harry says, the word coming out like a whine. 

Hands shaking, Louis coats his fingers in lube and circles the tip of one around Harry’s entrance, drawing another soft whine. Louis kisses the inside of his thigh, and as his finger breaches Harry’s hole, he bites lightly at the skin, savoring the sound of Harry’s moans while he does so. He works his way up to three this way, adding each one at Harry’s request—begging, rather, with the way he’s squirming his hips around. Louis has to use his other hand to pin Harry down and keep him still. 

As Louis pulls his fingers out, he catches Harry’s prostate on the way and Harry is full-on _pleading_. “Fuck, shit, Jesus Christ, Lou, come on, I need you, I need you to fuck me. Hurry, now, hurry,” he babbles, hips bucking upward in search of something. 

“Relax, babe, I got you. Don’t worry. I got you. I’m gonna fuck you so good,” Louis promises in a soothing voice, rolling the condom on himself and slicking it up before aligning himself with Harry’s entrance. “Ready, love?” 

“Get the fuck in,” Harry demands, and if Louis lets a fond chuckle escape, that’s not of consequence. Right now, the important thing is that he has a begging, willing, very sexy curly-haired boy beneath him and the task of getting them both off. 

“Perfect, Harry, so—fuck, oh my god, _Harry_.” Louis usually isn’t that much of a talker in bed, but the second he starts to enter Harry, the feeling is too amazing not to attempt to put into words. Harry’s walls are tight around him, and if Louis hadn’t done it himself he’d think Harry hadn’t been prepped or something. He watches the boy’s face for a sign of discomfort or pain, but Harry’s mouth is open as he lets out a moan that belongs in a porn movie. The last thing he wants is to hurt Harry, so he forces himself to go slowly, patiently, until he feels the press of Harry’s skin against his pelvis, and he knows he’s all the way in. 

Harry swears, a single drawn-out syllable, before wrapping his legs around Louis’ waist and nudging with his heels. “Come on, move, already.” 

“Got you, I’ve got you.” Steadying himself on his knees, Louis plants both hands into the mattress on either side of Harry’s head, pulls out almost all the way, and slams back in. Harry groans at that, and it’s Louis’ turn to put a hand over Harry’s mouth. “Gotta be quiet. Don’t want your neighbors to hear you.” 

Harry only listens a little, and Louis is kind of glad he didn’t go completely silent because the tiny little whimpers that leave Harry’s mouth might just be his new favorite sound. Putting his weight above Harry, Louis fucks him into the mattress, slow and deep and long. Harry is hot and smooth, feeling like heaven and hell at once, and Louis swears he feels Harry on every nerve. 

Harry just about screams when Louis finds his prostate again, so Louis takes full advantage of that, never letting up on the angle even as Harry squirms beneath him. The younger boy’s hand darts between them to grip his cock, and no, that won’t do. Louis swats Harry’s hand away, hushing his protests with, “I’m gonna suck you off after I come, yeah?” Harry’s eyes go wide at that, and he moves his hand to grip at the sheets instead, nodding furiously. Then his hips start coming up to meet Louis’ thrusts, forcing him deeper yet, and Louis realizes what he’s doing. Louis lets himself speed up, chasing his orgasm so he can get Harry off sooner, and the combination of Harry clenching around him and the sinful whimpers, Louis reaches his peak, filling the condom with a long “fuck, Harry.” 

The second Louis pulls out and discards the condom, Harry starts babbling again. “I wanna come, please, I really wanna come so bad, I’m so close and you felt so good and I—” 

Louis fits his mouth over the head of Harry’s cock, and Harry falls silent. There’s a way to shut someone up, Louis thinks, suckling at the head, and apparently Harry was _really_ close because he’s sighing and Louis has a mouthful of come. He swallows, licking the rest up from where stray drops had spilled onto Harry’s skin, before crawling up to curl around the boy. 

Harry beats him to it. “That was so good, Lou.” 

“ _You_ were so good,” Louis corrects, letting his eyes close and his body curl around Harry’s. Harry might be taller, but Louis can’t help the itch to protect him, keep him safe from everything. 

“No, that was you.” 

“Nuh-uh, you.” Are they really having this discussion? Harry was amazing and he should just accept it, not fight it. If Louis were more awake and not as fucked out, he’d smack Harry with his pillow and tell him to shut up. As it stands, though, Louis settles for throwing the blankets over them. 

“I’ll prove it to you next time.” 

Louis’ mouth is open for a retort, but Harry’s sentence makes him stop. It was said so simply, so casually, as though _next time_ was just a given. Is it, though? Fuck, Louis thinks the alcohol must be wearing off already if he’s starting to think about things like this. “Go to sleep, Harold. Don’t you have class tomorrow or something?” Louis says instead of dealing with it. 

“Yeah, don't worry about that,” Harry’s heavy voice comes back. It’s such a nice sound, especially now—deep, gravelly, still laden with pleasure. Louis has the thought to ask Harry to keep talking so he could fall asleep to it, but that’s probably a weird thing to ask for when they're not a couple. He feels Harry’s arms around him and their legs tangled together under the sheets. Somehow Harry’s made himself even smaller and has his head tucked under Louis’ chin. His hair tickles. Louis threads his fingers through the curls and pets, smiling faintly when Harry leans into the touch like a cat. 

They fall asleep just like that, wrapped up in each other and some kind of vague promise that this won’t be the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look smut yAy
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to @Harry_Styles: An hour(and a bit)glass.
> 
>  
> 
> [say hi on tumblr?](http://maybetheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

Harry wakes up warmer than usual. His first thought is that the air conditioning is broken, but the he opens his eyes and there’s a lump in his bed that’s not him and is _definitely_ not a pile of dirty laundry. His brow furrows. His head is still pounding, probably from too many nickel beers again, and when the lump starts moving he’s convinced he’s hallucinating. 

The lump moves suddenly, and then there’s sleep-mussed hair and blue eyes blinking at him. _Louis_. 

“Morning, Harry,” he says with a smile, voice still sweet and soft from sleep. 

Harry can’t help but grin. Yes, this headache was very, very worth it. “Morning. Sleep okay?” 

“You’re a pillow thief.” 

“There’s…only one pillow…” 

Louis’ face breaks into an even bigger smile. “I know. So I used you. Hope I wasn’t too heavy.” 

Harry doesn’t think Louis could ever be too heavy to not let this lovely boy sleep on him. “You’re too cute to be heavy,” is what ends up coming out. 

Louis chuckles, then his mouth flattens and his brow furrows a bit. “I’m not cute. I’m a _knight_. Knights are ruggedly handsome, not cute.” 

“Ruggedly handsome, _sure_ ,” Harry teases, trailing a finger along the slight scruff peppering Louis’ jawline. 

Louis gives a rather un-knightly squeak, batting Harry’s hands away. “What time do you have class?” 

“Uh…” Harry reaches over to his desk to grab his phone and knocks his cup of pens over in the process. It’s 9:23 and his eight o’clock alarm never went off. “Oops.” 

Louis rolls onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. “Did you miss class?” he demands, suddenly sounding very much like Harry’s mother. Or Perrie the RA on the rare occasion that she’s ticked off. 

“It’s not an important class,” he begins, but Louis just shakes his head and cuts him off. 

“Don’t go getting yourself in trouble because of me. I can go. I’m not offended, I promise. I get it.” 

“The professor loves me. And I still have all my excused absences to use,” Harry points out. “Plus, Liam’s in that class so I can get him notes. And go talk to Dr. Sanders tomorrow during his office hours.” Harry’s practically begging Louis to stay with him, and for a moment Louis just stares at him and Harry’s convinced he’ll just get up and leave. But then he just sighs and lies back down. 

“Speaking of him, where’s Liam? Do you know if he came back last night?” 

Harry glances over to the other side of the room, where the bed is made. “Well, either he came back and just left early—which is stupid, because he doesn’t have class till two in the afternoon and he usually stays in here to do homework until then—or he crashed at Andy’s down the hall. He does that sometimes when I bring people back.” 

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he thinks about them, and Louis’s expression immediately changes to that of discontent. 

“Do you do that often? Bring people back?” he asks, brows drawing together. 

“I used to. Not anymore,” Harry answers quickly, pulling the sheet up defensively. “More when I was a freshman and it was more okay to not give much of a shit.” 

Louis looks satisfied with his answer, which Harry is happy about. It’s too nice of a sight, Louis being satisfied with him, and Harry can’t help but want Louis to be satisfied with him all the time. Maybe more than satisfied. 

“You’ve always lived with Liam, then?” Louis asks, his foot nudging at the space between Harry’s ankles. 

Moving so Louis can slide his foot wherever he wants, Harry tells him, “Yeah. It was random roommates freshman year, and I got him, and we found out we were okay at putting up with each other so we figured we’d just keep putting up with each other.” 

Louis grins, a toothy, pointy little grin. “Liam’s interesting. He’s the kind of guy that must be really fun to wind up.” 

“Honestly, I don’t wind him up too much. Well, not on purpose, at least. Why, do you wind people up on a regular basis or something?” 

Louis’s grin widens and he lets out a laugh that Harry is convinced is closer to a cartoon cackle. “Let’s say it can be hard to find entertainment on the slow days,” he says, resting his chin in hands folded on top of Harry’s chest. From here, Harry can just barely see Louis’ eyes through the mess of untamed hair sweeping over his forehead, but he has the weird thought that he really wouldn’t mind waking up to this every day, a sleepy-cute Louis peering up at him and cold toes nudging at his own. 

 _Fuck, Harry, no. He’s only here for a few weeks,_ the rational part of his conscience tells him. The reminder feels like ice water dumped on him, and he frowns. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“You’re only here for a few weeks,” Harry blurts out. 

He doesn’t really know what he expects Louis to do, but it isn’t to chuckle. “You’re so cute when you’re crabby like this,” the older boy says with a smile, reaching up to poke Harry in the cheek right here his dimple would usually be. “But you’re cuter when you smile. So smile.” 

“But you’re only here for a few weeks.” Clearly Louis doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. It’s like some kind of summer romance in a chick flick, only in mid-April instead of the summer. (It’s not Harry’s fault if he marathons chick flicks with his sister on the rare occasion they’re both at home.) 

“I know.” Louis’s voice softens, and Harry looks him in the eyes. “So we should make the best of the time we have, shouldn’t we?” 

Harry nods, trying to manage a smile. “Yeah, definitely should.” Right as he starts sitting up to kiss Louis, the door opens and Liam enters in his usual weekday frazzle. 

He’s on the phone, with three textbooks in his arms and his laptop charger dangling out of the pocket of his cargo shorts, and if he notices Harry and Louis, he pays no attention at all. He just blows in like a little tropical storm of stress and busyness, chattering away like he’s the only person in the room. Which, to be fair, he should be, at almost ten in the morning on a Friday. 

“—still think we should probably meet tomorrow if the project’s due Wednesday, I mean, I know we have a lot of time, but I think the sooner we get together and figure this thing out, the sooner we could get it done so we don’t have to rush it like last time. Right? It doesn’t even have to be for very long tomorrow. Just divide up the—” 

Right as Liam’s turning around from his desk, he locks gazes with Harry and his jaw drops. Louis has a good laugh at that, practically shoving sheets in his mouth to muffle the sound. 

“I’ll—uh, hang on, Leigh-Anne, I’ll call you back. No, I’m fine. Just give me, like, ten minutes, alright? Or—yeah, message me on Facebook. That works too.” 

Liam tosses his phone on his bed and glares at Harry. “Why aren’t you in class?” 

Harry chooses to dodge the question. “When did you come back?” 

“I went to Andy’s room because you idiots clearly have no sense of how to be quiet when you fuck,” Liam retorts with a grimace. 

Louis jabs Harry in the side with his elbow. “Told you.” 

“And,” Liam goes on, talking over Louis, “I came back in a little after eight to get my stuff and go do some work in the library, because you two were still sleeping, and I thought about waking you up ‘cause I know you’re usually up by then so I thought I’d just let you sleep. Why aren’t you in class?” 

Liam sounds so accusatory that normally Harry would probably find it somewhere in himself to be sheepish, or at least pretend, but Louis’ curled up in his side and it’s really hard to be sheepish when he’s all warm and cozy there. 

“Didn’t wanna go,” Harry mumbles, sinking back into the pillow. “Overslept.” 

Liam’s glare moves to Louis, but before he can say anything, Harry cuts in with, “And Louis told me to go to class but I didn’t want to. So it’s not his fault.” 

Liam sighs. “I hope you still have all your excused absences for that class. I’m gonna go and work out.” 

Harry waves after him as he leaves. The second the door shuts, Louis turns to Harry and says, “I _told_ you you had to be quieter.” 

“Take it as a compliment.” Harry lets Louis pin him down as they kiss, slow and lazy, as though they have all the time in the world. He knows they don’t, but it’s nice to pretend. And in moments like these, it’s almost easy to think it’s more than pretending,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahaha remember when I said my goal was to have this finished by the time summer starts? WELL I honestly have no good reason as to why I'm taking such a long time, but that's still my goal. sorry this chapter was a bit of a filler chapter, but their days are numbered, so get ready for some more angsty things later on! if you've made it this far, thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> [tumblr](http://maybtheyrefireproof.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

Louis isn't sure exactly how it happens, but he's not about to fight it. Harry convinces him to stay for lunch—Panda Express brought up to the room from the student union—and then says that he doesn't have any more classes for the day. Louis doesn't fully believe that, but Harry's earlier acknowledgement that Louis' time here is limited has him thinking. The faire is only in town for seven weeks, and they're already coming up on the third weekend. If Louis doesn't get his shit together, this could crash and burn before the fourth weekend. 

But it's easy not to worry about that when he's curled up in Harry's small dorm bed, with barely enough room for both of them to fit, but somehow they make it work. Louis spends a good deal of time laying on Harry, who is a wonderful sport about it and lets Louis sprawl over his body and blankets and basically do whatever he wants. Harry tells him that on Wednesdays, he and Liam have an hour-long radio show on the college radio station. Louis makes a mental note to listen in next week. And though Harry keeps asking him about the faire and what the traveling life is like, Louis is much more content to listen to Harry talk. 

"But your life is so interesting!" Harry insists after Louis insists that he's not nearly as cool as Harry seems to think. 

"No, yours is. Honestly." Louis can see that Harry's about to protest, can see the way his brows furrow and his mouth opens like he's going to say something. "Listen, though. I've never been to school. I've been with the faire literally since I was born. And I love it, I really do, like I wouldn't give it up for anything. I love it too much to stop anytime soon. But sometimes I just wonder what it must be like, you know? To go to college like you and do normal stuff. I don't think I'd like to try it, though." 

Harry doesn't say anything for a long ten seconds. Then: "You wonder what it's like, but you wouldn't want to try it?" He sounds...Louis wouldn't say offended, but taken aback. His expression hasn't changed, either. 

"Well, yeah. 'Cause trying it means I've have to leave the faire, and I don't want to do that. I'm want to joust as long as I can, and when I can't do that, I'll stay on as an actor or a musician or something." 

Harry sighs and leans back against the wall, leaving Louis lying down with his head in Harry's lap. "It's not boring, you know." It comes out soft, almost like he's talking to himself, but Louis responds anyway. 

"I never said I thought it was. Just...different. Very different. Not at all something I'm used to." A glance over at the clock on Harry's desk tell him that it's after four-thirty. He should probably do the responsible thing and head back. Niall and Zayn have probably been going nuts trying to contact him, but Louis hasn't even looked at his phone all day. Harry just has a way of commanding attention, though Louis doubts he even knows it. It's the way he talks, slow and deliberate like he's really thinking about each word as it comes out, and the little extra shine in his pretty green eyes that he gets when he talks about something he's interested in. 

Harry must know where he's looking, because he asks, "Do you have to go?" 

Louis nods ruefully. "I should be getting back, yeah." 

"Are you jousting tomorrow?" 

"No. It's the third week, which is my week off!" Louis exclaims. "So you know what that means, right?" 

"I won't see you." Harry frowns. 

"No! It means that I'm making you show me around and take me to your favorite places. Are you free?" 

Harry nods, looking much happier than he had just a ten seconds ago. "Yeah, definitely. Do you like the beach?" 

Louis grins at him and nods, sliding off the bed and starting to pull his clothes on. Honestly, he'd go anywhere in the city as long as Harry said it was his favorite place. "You've got yourself a deal. I'll come here, or where do you want to meet?" 

"What about the front gates of the faire?" 

"Perfect." Louis slips his shirt on over his head, smoothing out where it's gotten wrinkled from sitting on the floor all day long. "Come down and sign me out, then?" 

He kisses Harry goodbye as he takes his I.D. from the security desk, giving the boy's hair a little friendly tug. "The gates. What time?"

"Is nine o'clock too early?" 

Fuck, it's way too early for a Saturday. But it's time spent with Harry. "Nine's good. See you then." 

Suddenly, Harry cups Louis' face in both his hands and Louis thinks he's going to kiss him on the lips again, but then the taller boy angles Louis' head down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "See you then," Harry tells him softly, voice deep and pretty and Louis can hear the smile. 

It's not hard to find his way back to the faire, and then back to the RV. The lights are out in the RV when he gets there, so Zayn and Niall must be out. Humming to himself, Louis flings the door open and flops down on his sofa, kicking his shoes off onto the floor. It smells like weed again—how dare Zayn not wait for him. 

"Well, well, well!" 

Louis starts at the voice, nearly falling off the couch at the sudden sound. "Fucking hell, Niall, I thought I was the only one in here. Christ, scare a man a little more, why don't you?" 

"Where have you been all day, huh?" Niall pokes his head through the curtain separating the bunks from the front lounge. "Spent the night with Harry," he teases. 

Louis throws a pillow at Niall's face, but the blond ducks out the way. "I did, so what?" 

Niall cackles and starts making kissy sounds. 

"Real mature. Zayn, save meeeeee!" Louis shouts, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. 

Niall falls to the floor with a loud thunk, and then Zayn steps over him to join Louis on the couch. "Did you really only get back now?" 

"Yeah. I meant to come back sooner, but he wanted me to stay and have lunch and you really can't say no to that boy. It's like, Niall's puppy face, only ten times worse because he doesn't even realize he's doing it." 

Zayn just studies Louis for a few seconds. "Do you love him?" 

The question isn't at all what Louis expects. "Do I—what?" 

"Do you love him?" 

"Zayn, I don't...I can't. We're only here for four more weeks. There's no time." 

Zayn sighs. "That didn't stop you that time in New York." 

Oh. Louis shuts his eyes, leaning against the back of the couch. "Did you really have to bring that up?" 

"I don't want it to happen again, that's all." 

"That was two years ago." 

"So?" 

It's Louis' turn to sigh now, thinking back to that mess of an affair, as Zayn had called it afterward. He'd met someone in New York called Luke, they hooked up for the eight weeks Louis was in town, and then they'd attempted the long-distance thing. But the year-long wait to see Louis again clearly was too much for Luke, who not only had a string of girlfriends, but also posted about them on Facebook, probably forgetting Louis would see the posts, too. Luke said it was Louis' fault for being on the road all the time, and Louis believed it. 

"I didn't even think about that," Louis admits. "I just...I guess I just thought we could have this time and then move on."

He opens his eyes again to see Zayn looking at him intently, head tilted like he's deep in thought. "Is that really what you want? Is that what Harry wants?" 

"I don't know." Louis smacks the cushion in frustration. "I don't want to want anything." 

"I think it's too late for that, Lou," Zayn says gently. 

"Harry wouldn't do what Luke did," Louis mutters. 

"Yeah, but do you know that for sure?" 

"Harry's not like Luke." Louis huffs and sits up. "It won't be like that." 

"Lou, I don't want you to—" 

"I know. Thanks, but it won't be like that." Without waiting for a response, Louis gets up and stalks back to the bunk, ignoring Zayn calling after him and stepping over Niall, who inexplicably stayed on the floor and has begun a game of Trivia Crack on his phone. He slips into his bunk and snaps the curtain shut, frowning into his pillow. 

"Harry wouldn't do that," he mutters again. "He wouldn't. He's not like Luke." With a snort, he rolls onto his side, facing the wall. His phone dings with a text from Harry, but he flips the switch to silence and shoves it under his pillow. Let a man sulk in peace, for god's sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in a couple of days!! i'm so proud of myself. i just might finish this on schedule now. as always, thanks for reading!
> 
> [tumblr](http://maybetheyfireproof.tumblr.com)


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